


A Very Fancy Christmas

by HyperKid



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: All of the mush, Christmas Special, Fancy Lee Christmas, Fancy Santa, Gen, Presents for everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 17:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperKid/pseuds/HyperKid
Summary: In the cold nights of the Quad, Fancy works up a little Christmas miracle for the good people of Westerley. And everyone on the team gets their own personal, special gift.But who makes the gift for Santa Claus?





	A Very Fancy Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> HK: You know what there isn't enough of? Killjoys fanfic. You know what I'm here to fix?   
> Fancy: Leaving me abandoned on justpaste.it for two months?  
> HK: That too. Say hello to the nice readers.   
> Fancy: Designated asshole.   
> HK: Santa.   
> Fancy: ... Hello nice readers. Enjoy the show. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing whatsoever except this little fanfiction! Fancy and all the rest belong to.... to... to whoever owns Killjoys. I'm about 97% sure that's not actually Michelle Lovretta? 
> 
> WARNINGS!! None. What a nice change.

Westerly didn’t have much of a seasonal cycle, being a small, ecological disaster of a moon. The biggest difference between summer and winter was the cold, and more rains of black acid as the moon rotated away from the sun. Fancy Lee preferred to base on Leith, where there was at least a chance of snow.

It reminded him of his past. Of his family. Of winter festivals, a little brother on his shoulders, riding on his father’s broad back as they went to the parades. The chill in the air, snow flavoured with fruit juices as a cheap, easy treat to feed to children.

No one at the RAC would have guessed it by looking at him of course; he had been their designated lonely asshole, and then the monster who had been a Six. None of them expected him to care about anyone but himself.

None of them realised that he played the asshole for their sake as much as his own.

Fancy Lee had always been a team player at heart. At the top of his field, excelling at any task he took upon himself, he had been a perfect candidate for Red 17. Because he didn’t care if he was liked. He didn’t care if he was invited to the parties, didn’t want to sob on Pree’s bar like half the other Killjoys in the Quad. He’d cross any line for his self assigned family, and let them all hate him for it if it meant the unit stayed whole. Healthy. Elite.

The war had made that complicated; the RAC was no longer his family. Not like the other Sixes were. He had a different set of loyalties, people who actually looked to him for guidance as well as a ruthlessly efficient bastard.

It showed him what he had been missing. And now here was the winter, reminding him again. He spent more time alone, wandering the streets of Old Town looking for a quiet corner where no one knew who he was.

The price of excellence, the price of fame.

Luckily, he was also excellent.

**

D’Avin Jaquobi was the first. And, admittedly, the easiest. The older brother was deliciously uncomplicated, a soldier to his core, an emerging leader. But he did walk past the table three times before spotting the wrapped box.

Fancy might have to leave him a few more... interesting packages just to get their fearless leader up to snuff.

It was when he’d finally grabbed himself a mug of coffee and a pouch of oatmeal paste that he finally spotted the beautiful, gold and red wrapped box on the table. A small, surprised hum escaped his lips as he pulled the box towards him, reading his own name on the top twice to be sure.

To his credit, he didn’t immediately rip it open. He turned it over carefully several times, checking for traps before carefully easing up the tape on one corner. Finding nothing, he turned the wooden box inside away from him, flipped open the lid, and gasped.

Inside was an elegantly made gleaming knife, the grip perfectly sized to his hand and so exquisitely balanced it seemed almost weightless when he picked it up. His expression was nothing but awe as he raised the weapon to eye level, turning it slowly over to admire the craftsmanship, the elegantly worked golden lines weaving up the handle to a little golden nub.

A hint of dreadful, hopeful suspicion edged through him and he pointed the knife towards the wall, his thumb brushing easily over the nub as if it were made for him. Because it was made for him.

He let out a startled, delighted whoop as a dart flew from the base of the blade, impacting with the wall with a crackle of electricity and a smell of ozone that made D’Avin jump and whoop again. He spun around, finally looking for who would have bestowed such a wonderful gift on him, but there was no one there.

**

Turin was more difficult. There was a lot of tension there, a lot of anger. But it was the season for forgiveness, and Fancy had to admit that he believed that Turin knew he had done wrong.

He believed Turin meant his apologies.

He couldn’t give forgiveness, not just yet. Not with the other Sixes still angry and on edge. But he left Turin a small, simple clip wrought from steel and covered in gold. Something to keep all that hair off his face while he was breaking in that “new asshole smell”.

Turin seemed at least more aware than D’Avin who might have left the gift. He didn’t behave any differently, how could he? He had a reputation to cultivate.

But he wore the clip in his hair the next night at the Royale, and raised a glass.

**

The other Jaquobi brother, dear Johnny, was if anything easier than his brother to provide for. Much as he’d deny it if pushed (or would he? Things were changing so fast now), he’d always liked Johnny and Dutch.

Dutch, obviously, he respected as a warrior beyond peer, her ruthlessness matched only by her morality.

But Johnny? For someone who’d been a lowly level three for most of their acquaintance, Fancy couldn’t bring himself to underestimate the lad. It wasn’t just his technical skill, though Fancy quietly suspected they’d be equals there, but that light hearted charm that drew his attention. Young Johnny had a gift that neither of his teammates had.

He made people feel at ease. He took an interest, and it made people feel interesting. And he put people, interpersonal relationships back together as easily as he’d repair that charming ship.

Yes, Fancy knew the perfect gift for John Jaquobi, and the beauty of that was how easily it was attained.

First, a puzzle. A small silver box holding an exquisitely made little tracking device Fancy had “picked up” on a warrant. There was nothing like it in the Quad and Fancy himself would have liked to unpick its secrets himself, but, well.

He did owe Johnny.

And it was that which prompted the second part of the gift. No doubt Johnny had a set of tools of his own, makeshift and workmanlike. So Fancy gave him a lovely set of microtools, suited to the more delicate electrical workings of his baby bug.

Each piece gleamed with a seductive silver light, slender with their perfectly sculpted heads, handles configured exactly for the younger Jaquobi’s hands. One of the few talents Fancy didn’t often use was his gift for measurements; there was none more precise without having taken tools to the hands they were crafting for.

A few days had passed between D’Avin’s gift and a suitable opportunity for Fancy to sneak Johnny’s in without being caught (Lucy knew, of course she did, but she was sworn to cheerful secrecy with the promise that Johnny’s gift would be spectacular).

So as soon as Johnny reached his room and saw the two unfamiliar packages on his bed, far from being concerned he let out a pleased cry almost exactly like his brother’s, diving on the bed to rip the paper from his treasures.

The tiny tracker was exclaimed over loudly enough to wake the dead, and Dutch and D’Avin besides as they hurried to check on their comrade, but at the second gift Johnny fell into a reverent silence.

His fingers skated slowly across the handles of the perfect little tools, slotted neatly into their storage case. He devoured them with his eyes, sliding each one by one from their places, turning them over, holding them in his hands and placing them back in awed silence.

When he finally looked up, there were tears in his eyes which made Dutch and D’Avin share an exasperated, relieved smile.

“Who did this, Lucy?” He asked softly, not even noticing his partners stood before him.

“Santa, Johnny,” the sassy ship’s AI replied, a hint of teasing in her artificial tones.

**

Zeph was an unknown equation, new and different, but despite not being of the old guard, Fancy graciously accepted her into his expanded family.

She was a biochemical genius, a keen student who devoured any knowledge she could find, which made it easier for Fancy to choose the perfect gift.

Not something he had made, not this time, because they didn’t have that all important history between them.

No, Zeph was an uneasy warrior at best, well suited to her lab. So Fancy found for her a book.

An actual, physical, paper book.

That alone would make it a museum piece suitable for any on Qresh to cherish, but this book was as chosen for Zeph as the blade he’d made for D’Avin, the clasp for Turin.

It was a history of the species of Earth, the home-planet, a world lost millennia before any of them were born. The birthplace of humanity.

Zeph didn’t understand at first, picking the unfamiliar object from her workbench and frowning at it as she read the cover. Her brows drew down further as she flipped it open, attacking the mystery as surely as she faced every puzzle, certain she would see it through.

Her jaw dropped as she read and understood what she held. Oh, humans had been studied over and over in the time since they reached the Quad, but this? This was the history of her craft.

**

Dutch, now, Dutch was hard. Sharing the truth about Aneela had changed Yelena Ardeen, and Fancy knew all too well the look of someone walling themself off from it all.

The war had been more to Dutch than it had for any of them, because it was personal. It was her family. It was her ~self~ who led the green against them, a version twisted by madness and isolation, yes, but that only made Aneela more terrifying.

Because Dutch knew she could become her.

How easy it would be to slip, to forget that life was precious, her own promise not to kill anymore, except to protect.

They had far more in common than either Dutch or Fancy would happily admit, and he wondered for days what he could give to her.

A beautiful weapon, like D’Avin’s, was out of the question; not because Dutch wouldn’t appreciate it. That woman was the most beautiful weapon Fancy could imagine, every line of her body as perfectly honed as any of his darts.

But a weapon would slam home the lesson Dutch was desperate not to learn. She was not only for war, not a tool, not a general.

Nor would tools, like he had given Johnny, be appreciated. Dutch used tools, the finished products of labour, with an elegance and finesse that was almost unmatched. But she didn’t make her own, didn’t pick things apart to see how they worked.

She trusted Johnny to be sure that everything she touched worked as perfectly as their team.

No simple ornament, no pretty affectation would serve, though Fancy did almost finish making an elegant brooch for her before he cast the idea aside.

It was simple, a sinuous curve of gold plating an alloy that would pass undetected through any scan, with a pin that could puncture a bulkhead. He even hollowed out the end and filled it with an antidote to koleen, the poison he himself had nearly killed her with so long ago.

It seemed... appropriate, a deadly joke between friends, but she would know immediately that it was from him, because that connection was an intrinsic part of the gift.

Which made it completely useless to hide for her to find.

He would give her the pin another time, face to face where he could see her smile as she realized what it was. But a pretty adornment would, he feared, cheapen her.

Dutch was beautiful, a fact he was sure was endlessly useful for covers and her subtler warrants, but Fancy was never one for cliches. Pretty jewellery for a pretty girl was so ~mundane~, even if he made it a weapon for her.

He could do better.

And then he remembered the sitar. He had never spent much time on Lucy, less unobserved, but he had seen and heard the Jaquobis talking once about the sitar Dutch kept but never touched.

Something from an old life, before even her time as a Killjoy.

A life she wished to forget, and to keep close at the same time.

And Fancy Lee knew what he would make for her.

He poured over instruments that would complement the sitar, but could carry on the symphony of her life. Something to remind her that, despite all of the politics now enmeshing her, she was still the same Dutch they’d always known and admired.

In the end he chose a shehnai; a wind instrument with two reeds controlled by an ivory needle, a long wooden body and a brass bell end, with holes for the fingers. It was an incredibly difficult instrument to play, and difficult to make, but difficult had only ever encouraged Fancy Lee.

This wasn’t something he could leave on Lucy. Partially because Dutch’s paranoia was at an all time high, and both Jaquobis were childishly determined to catch “Santa”, but mostly because he didn’t want her to feel it was a violation.

He left the instrument in its case on the terminal where Lucy was docked instead, waiting concealed nearby to make sure no one touched it.

Dutch, like D’Avin, expected a trick at first, though Fancy knew he saw the slightest curve of her lips into a smile as she lifted the lid. Everyone liked presents, deep down. When the box wasn’t red.

What she found inside brought her brows down in puzzlement for a moment, elegant fingers skimming slowly down the body of the instrument. He hadn’t been sure she would recognize it, though he’d hoped she would understand, so for the first time he’d left a note.

Dutch leaned back against the terminal, balancing the instrument case on her thigh as she picked up the single sheet of thick, creamy paper from inside the lid. Her lips moved as she read the words; “second verse, same as the first”.

She turned the paper over in case there was more, then carefully lifted the shehnai from its case. Recognition dawned as she held it in her hands, and for an instant Fancy was afraid he’d made a horrible mistake.

He had spent a lot of time with Khlyen, but the man had never exactly been chatty. All he knew was that Dutch had been trained by the man, had resented him, had loved him. Had he brought back more bad memories than good?

Dutch’s hands shook as she replaced the instrument in its case, sealed it, and clutched it to her chest. Those quick, dark eyes scanned the docks, searching for who had given it to her, and then she hurried aboard the ship for privacy.

Fancy let out a soft breath and slipped away. So far, so good.

**

He left a reckoning knife, like the one he had given Turin at Alvis’ marker. It had changed his life, in broad strokes but also in subtler ways. It reminded him that nothing was set in stone.

That although people made mistakes, those mistakes could be repaired.

It wasn’t all better yet. Turin’s actions would leave a scar. But, he had to admit, Alvis would have enjoyed that.

**

If he’d been asked when he began, he would have expected the Royale to be the easiest stop on his tour.

Lucy was a fortress, in her own way, and harder to infiltrate than the RAC because she was so much smaller. There were no cracks, no ways to sneak aboard an airtight ship.

And Turin was at the heart of an actual, physical fortress, surrounded by wary killjoys and warriors, all on a hair trigger.

An earthbound bar should have been no challenge in comparison. But here he was, in the act of placing the next box, looking up at the smiling face of Pree.

“A bit conspicuous,” the tall, elegant man said airily, examining his exquisitely painted nails, “leaving a present for everyone but yourself.” He tutted softly, sharp eyes flicking to trap Fancy’s in their gaze. “They’ll guess it was you.”

Fancy remained frozen for a moment, then straightened, shrugging.

“I didn’t think about it. I doubt they’ll notice.” Apparently that answer surprised Pree as both his brows arched into the air.

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll come to that,” he said with a soft chuckle, moving across to the bar to pull a medium sized silver wrapped envelope from beneath the counter.

Fancy opened it slowly and stared at the contents. A faint hint of a smile, softer and more genuine than his usual smirk, pulled across his face.

“Merry Christmas, Fancy Lee.” Pree grinned, nodding in approval as Fancy tucked the envelope into his tunic above his heart, resting his hand over it for a moment before turning to leave the bar.

“Merry Christmas, Pree.”

**Author's Note:**

> HK: Drop me a line, let me know if you loved it, hated it, or want me to do more! Oh, and if you know whether fanfiction counts as "inspired by another work" down in that there checkbox because I feel like yes? But also no?


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